


we bleed in color, but our lives should be black and grey

by andibeth82



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banter, Developing Friendship, Dive Bars, F/M, Hotels, Male-Female Friendship, Partnership, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At one point in time, Steve thinks maybe he would’ve beaten around the bush, been a little more hesitant at both the sight of the woman in front of him and the nature of the visit itself. But that was before they fought aliens and magic, before he saved her from falling debris, and before she jumped off his shield like it was a kid’s trampoline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we bleed in color, but our lives should be black and grey

**Author's Note:**

> The relationship between Natasha and Steve (their parallels, similarities, war buddy type connections) has always been one of my favorite things. After seeing the first Winter Soldier trailer, I was particularly intrigued at how the two were going to go from where we saw them at the end of Avengers – colleagues, friends – to where they are when that movie begins (bantering, comfortableness, and according to trailers, she’s been to his apartment! What!) This is my attempt at exploring the beginning of that bond.
> 
> On another note, it was important to me on a personal level to write this and get this out there before a majority of the world saw Winter Soldier, and before the MCU takes over this storyline and kills my headcanon. And I'm sure I'll love whatever Marvel throws at me but for the sake of this fic, which I care a lot about, I wanted that world of my own for a little bit, if I could have it.
> 
> [the usual disclaimer about Natasha’s MCU age applies – I know that it’s actually confirmed in this film, but as I’ve been staying away from spoilers, I’m still in the dark.]
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to [bobsessive](http://bobsessive.tumblr.com) and [enigma731](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731) for beta and comma fixes and assuring me on my biggest fear.

He comes to her almost a month after New York, after receiving the email which elicits a furrowed brow and tightly pursed lips. Natasha answers on the second knock, her hair pushed off her forehead in a low ponytail, bare-footed and fresh-faced, track pants sitting low on her hips. At one point in time, Steve thinks maybe he would’ve beaten around the bush, been a little more hesitant at both the sight of the woman in front of him and the nature of the visit itself.

But that was before they fought aliens and magic, before he saved her from falling debris, and before she jumped off his shield like it was a kid’s trampoline.

“So, we’re working together now?”

“What; you don’t want to?” she replies with a teasing smirk, opening the door wider. He steps inside the apartment cautiously, his gaze flitting around the room as he shrugs off his jacket.

“He’s not here,” Natasha continues as if reading his mind, crossing her arms over her chest as she moves to stand in front of him. “He’s back at headquarters for tests, and I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“Oh.” Steve frowns, nervously twisting his hands together until his gaze settles back on her. “And he’s…he’s okay with this?”

The muscles in Natasha’s face twitch slightly with something that looks like it could vaguely be described as disappointment. “It wasn’t my decision,” she says simply. “Or our decision. But as you’ve seen, we don’t really get a choice. We get orders, we follow them.” She hands him a glass of water and leans back against the counter, regarding him carefully. “I know you know something about following orders.”

“Is that a threat?” Steve asks with a small grin. He still hasn’t quite figured out how to react to her dry sense of humor, still reconciling the image of the world’s deadliest killer with the compassionate, slightly sarcastic, smoky-voiced girl – _woman_ – in front of him. Natasha laughs, almost bitterly.

“Trust me, Rogers. If I ever threaten you, you’ll know it.”

Steve puts his glass down on the counter. It _would_ be the worst thing in the world, he thinks, to willingly be alone somewhere without your partner, without the one person whom you trusted more than anyone else. He didn’t have a choice with Bucky, but he did have a choice with Peggy, and that was a choice he had made because protecting her was the selfless thing to do. The right thing to do.

But Peggy hadn’t been compromised. And after everything Clint and Natasha have been through, Steve finds himself surprised that they would even consider separating again, let alone so quickly.

“You’ll be without him.”

“I know.” Natasha shrugs and runs a finger across the table, and something in her voice sounds sad. “But, I get to know you better, so maybe it’s a fair trade off.”

Steve looks down, slightly uncomfortable at her words. “Not much to know that’s not in the files. Or the videos.” He pauses, looking up. “I mean, they _did_ give you the videos, didn’t they?”

Natasha’s head tilts slightly and she moves forward, her fingers wrapping around his arm. “I told Clint the same thing,” she says with a small shrug. “But there’s always a story somewhere we haven’t told.”

 

***

 

They meet in Central Park a week before they’re to ship off on their first mission, by Natasha’s invitation. Steve thinks maybe he should have been the one to initiate, being the guy and all, but he’s still new to this whole S.H.I.E.L.D. thing, to this whole partnership thing, and he’s not really sure what the protocol is for getting to know your teammate that you kind of already know, but not enough for it to _not_ be entirely awkward.

“Is it different?” Natasha asks, biting into a pretzel, when they’ve found an open bench away from the walkers and bikers and mothers pushing strollers. Her eyes are hiding behind dark glasses and she blends in more easily in street clothes with her red hair tucked under a blue Yankees cap. He’s a bit more conspicuous, with his body build and distinctive face that even sunglasses can’t hide.

“Yes and no. It depends. Times Square, of course; that’s entirely different. You’ve seen the photos. But it’s not just the buildings; it’s the environment, too. Everything is built up and gaudy and it’s lost its original glamor. It’s about money, not architecture.” Steve pauses, glancing up and around at the trees and the children playing against the larger rocks in the space along 5th Avenue. “Park’s still the same, though.”

Natasha nods, following his gaze. “I always wonder what it would be like back home,” she says suddenly, sounding a little wistful. “The village I grew up in. I’m sure it’s not the same. But sometimes I think about it…I wonder what society and technology must have done to it. I wonder how it’s all changed.” She pauses, laughing a little. “It’s silly, really. To miss somewhere you don’t even have a memory of.”

“No,” Steve shrugs, surprised at how easy it is to keep the conversation going. “I don’t think so. People don’t reflect on what used to be. They get caught up in the present. I wish I had more people to talk to about stuff like this, you know, just about what it was like. What it means now. But then again, no one’s really clamoring to understand the feelings of someone who’s been dead for seventy years.”

“Or alive for seventy,” Natasha reminds him gently, lacing fingers around his palm.

 

***

 

They only train together a week before their first high stakes mission, an assignment that puts them in Putrajaya where Natasha takes the lead while Steve runs back-up. She’s good with her guns and he’s good with his reflexes, and together they balance each other out pretty well, enough for Steve to admit to himself that maybe Fury knew what he was doing after all when he formed this partnership.

“So which one of you gets the most hits when you’re out together?” he asks later that night when curiosity gets the best of him, after they’ve checked into their hotel, double-triple checked that there are, in fact, two beds, because he isn’t ready to deal with _that_ awkwardness just yet, partners or not.

“Depends on the mission.” Natasha shrugs, tugging off her boots. “Clint likes to keep count. He thinks that I don’t pay attention, but I have my own tally. Most of the time, it’s actually pretty even.”

There’s a lingering smear of blood along her collarbone from where she’d shot one guy straight between his eyes and a bruise on her arm from where she was knocked into a concrete wall, and though his first instinct is concern, Steve tries not to feel overly worried. Advanced healing is often both a gift and a curse, the pain leaving but the memories staying, and this isn’t a mission that’s personal to them by any means. It’s in and out and pretty much cut and dry, which means that not only is there nothing to incapacitate them mentally, but also that tomorrow they’ll both look like nothing’s happened.

They don’t talk much in the hours that follow, Natasha slipping into bed with a book and a small smile, until they both mutually agree to turn off the lights. Sometime later, he awakes abruptly, for a moment unsure of where he is and who he’s with. Understanding settles in when his brain stops moving, before his eyes focus on the other bed, a small ray of glowing light radiating from the darkness like a halo.

He soon realizes that the light belongs to Natasha, who’s thumbing through her cell phone, the bright screen illuminating the lower half of her face, mouth curved upwards. There’s a twitch in the way her body moves that he can barely see in the dark, and something clicks within his brain.

 _So that’s how they talk_. Steve turns over and closes his eyes, trying to will himself back to sleep as the room suddenly plunges back into blackness. Instead of the usual silence that comes with the darkness, however, there’s a distinctly different sound coming from the other bed. Steve can’t help himself; he knows he’s probably over-stepping his bounds and that maybe she’ll kick him out tomorrow, ask to be re-assigned, but what the hell.

“Are you crying, Agent Romanov?”

She huffs out a breath that sounds like a laugh and he can just barely make out the motion of her hand as it drags itself across her cheek.

“Shut up, Rogers.”

 

***

 

Steve’s pretty sure a honkytonk is the last place he would ever expect to find himself, the company of Natasha Romanov notwithstanding. He protests all the way to the bar, until she finally turns around and places her hands on her hips, regarding him with a stare he thinks Clint probably gets all the time, both in the field and out.

“You need to let off some steam,” Natasha says pointedly, leading him through the door and pushing past the Saturday night crowds. They’re currently in the middle of a three day break, routing themselves from California to Florida by way of Texas, where Natasha has suggested (or rather, insisted) they stop somewhere that seems like no place Steve could ever picture her, despite how much better he’s gotten to know her in recent months.

“Do you normally do this?”

“With Barton?” Natasha snorts as she flags down the bartender. “Usually he’s the one dragging me, not the other way around.” She shrugs as he slides into the seat next to her. “I admit they’ve grown on me, though I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve just stopped caring about the type of people that usually frequent them or because I just realized I like cheap beer.” As if to make a point, she glances up at the small stage in the corner, where a country performer is crooning his way through a not-too-terrible cover of Patsy Cline’s “Leavin’ On Your Mind.”

“We found this place a few years ago on a random side trip, when we got lost looking for one of the hotels S.H.I.E.L.D. had set up for us,” Natasha continues, turning away from the dancing couples taking up space in front of the stage and reaching for the drink that’s appeared in front of her. “Clint, of course, insisted we stop to check it out. Funny thing is, we both hated it, yet we kept coming back each time we passed through the area because it was one of the first places we were both able to feel normal. For one night.” Her smile turns sad and Steve looks down, understanding words that she doesn’t elaborate on. It’s lonelier than he can explain, being a superhero, whether or not that includes special powers or simply having a tie to the world’s greatest covert security network 

“Bucky and I used to go to these places,” he trades, looking up. “Different atmosphere, but same vibe. The guys would sit around sharing war stories, I’d be there feeling awkward, Bucky would try to get the girls.”

“And did he?” Natasha asks curiously, sipping her drink with a raised eyebrow. “Get the girls, I mean?”

Steve almost laughs then, because the irony of the situation is so blatant he can’t help it. “All but one,” he says a little wistfully, a black and white photo of Peggy’s face burning his retinas, and he downs his beer to dull the pain spreading through his chest.

 

***

 

She makes him dance. _Natasha Romanov_ makes _Steve Rogers_ dance.

He hates it, at first. He’s more awkward on his feet than he ever was with women, and doesn’t quite know what to do with his arms, and at one point he damn near storms off the floor in frustration because he thinks this might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done, stupider than taking on bullies that he knew he couldn’t handle in dark alleyways just because he felt like he owed it to himself to try to be a hero.

But she teaches him how to twirl and how to side step. She doesn’t make fun of him when he moves the wrong way and it’s two in the morning before they leave, stumbling out of the honkytonk with smiles on both of their faces, Natasha on the verge of being just _slightly_ tipsy and Steve feeling more optimistic about life than he has in awhile.

 

***

 

They’ve been back in New York for almost month, and in the absence of a reason to show up and work together, Steve’s almost worried that Natasha will forget about him.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t – she stops by his apartment to see how he’s doing, sometimes dropping off reports or old movies that she’s picked up that she thinks he’ll enjoy (“ _The Exorcist_ : that one’s a classic. First movie that scared me shitless, gotta watch it with the lights off, though. If you’re nice, I’ll watch it with you.”) The crowning moment, however, is when Clint walks in on one of Steve’s training sessions early one Saturday morning and then casually invites him out to breakfast like it’s no big deal.

“Heard things with Nat are going pretty well,” he says nonchalantly. It’s the first time Steve’s really seen him since New York and he feels his ears turn pink as the comment settles in.

“She’s great,” he manages, hoping he’s not walking into some stealth trap because as much as he never doubted Natasha’s loyalty – as much as she’s told him that _it’s not the same thing_ – the more time Clint spends out of the field, the more he becomes wary that he’s encroaching on something he knows is too precious to touch. “It’s been really good for me to get to know someone other than myself around here,” he adds after a beat, and Clint looks up with a half smile.

“Yeah, she’s good like that. Probably the only reason I haven’t completely cracked,” he says sarcastically, and the edge in his voice makes Steve hurt with a pain he didn’t know he could feel.

Later, Clint brings Steve to a diner on the corner of 44th and 11th. Natasha meets them at the door and makes Steve read the whole menu before deciding on what to order, and Clint makes bad jokes while she rolls her eyes. Steve smiles, laughs, realizes it’s the first time in a long time he’s felt like doing either in the presence of anyone that wasn’t himself.

 

***

 

It’s late September before they get another hint of a mission, before they’re officially stationed together again, before Steve feels like he has something to look forward to other than diner breakfasts, which have become a weekend routine, along with training sessions at headquarters.

“Ever walked this before?” He asks when Natasha steps off the subway, nodding towards the walkway where dozens of pedestrians are crowding along the footpath to the Brooklyn Bridge. She shakes her head.

“Nope. I assume you have, though.”

Steve laughs a little and repeats her movement. “Always thought about it. Time never quite lent itself to the opportunity, though.”

“Well.” Natasha casually slips her hand through his arm as they weave through the bikers and walkers. “No time like the present, right?” She leads them in and out of crowds of pedestrians until they have slightly more room to breathe, and they end up pressed against the side of the bridge about a fourth of the way across, half of Manhattan trailing in their wake and the whole of Brooklyn sprawling out in front of them.

“You got the memo.” Steve leans over the rail and then forward towards the water, Natasha mimicking his move.

“Yes.”

He sighs, lowering his eyes before he speaks again. “I thought I wanted it, you know. To be shipped off somewhere, to feel useful and to do what we got used to doing together.” He spins on his heel, pressing his back against the rail. “But now…” He shakes his head. “Now I’m just not sure.”

“Is this about me and Barton?” Natasha inquires, turning with him and raising a brow in his direction. “Because I’ve thought I’ve done my best to prove that we’re not that kind of partnership, Rogers. Besides, you should know Clint thinks very highly of you. Certainly not anything that I’ve told him; he _hates_ having to admit that I’m right about things.” She grins slightly, catching the small smile of his own that slips across his face as he shrugs.

“Guess I’m just worried that there’s only so far I can run,” he says finally. “How long can you last before you start looking back?”

Natasha leans back on the balls of her feet, her tongue clicking in her mouth as she considers his words. “You can’t,” she replies, a little hesitantly. “You can only move forward. And right now, that means taking on these assignments and continuing to be the person the world has come to see you as. Learning to trust and helping others…it doesn’t change anything, but it does help.”

Steve eyes her warily, shielding his eyes against the sudden onslaught of the sun. “You moved forward.”

Natasha’s lips thin into a straight white line and she nods. “Yes.”

“By yourself?” 

“Barton helped,” she responds almost immediately, her words clipped, and the look she shoots him very clearly means _that’s enough_. He watches as her shoulders tense, her arms folding over each other as she regards him with a hard glare. “And now I’m going to help you. So man up, Rogers, because we’re going to Naples whether you like it or not.”

It’s comforting, in a way: comforting rather than threatening to know that they’ve gotten to the point where she’s so determined to have his back, to care about him, even when they’re not in the middle of dodging bullets and firefight. He breaks into a laugh before he can help himself, pushing off the rail, gesturing towards the Manhattan part of the skyline with one hand.

“What about one more diner breakfast before we go?”

It’s Natasha’s turn to laugh as she pushes him slightly towards the center of the bridge, the future in front of them and the past behind them and a strange mixture of calm and uncertainty floating in between that they both mutually acknowledge and vow to help each other understand.

“You got it, Rogers.” 


End file.
